


Siren of the Night

by Sapphy



Series: Tumblr Fics [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Curtain Fic, Dark Harry Potter, Domestic, F/F, Female Harry Potter, Genderswap, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/Sapphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’d make a terrible hitwoman,” Ginny says with a smile, a real one this time. “And I don’t know what a catsuit is, but I’m sure I’d look fantastic in it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for Hollowautumn over on Tumblr, who won my 500 follower fic giveaway, and requested dark Fem!Harry/Ginny.
> 
> It's been a very long time since I last wrote these guys, so I hope they're not too massively OOC.

Noise from the kitchen wakes Ginny from a fitful slumber at what, according to Harry’s digital alarm clock, turns out to be three am. (She’s still uncomfortable around electronics, but she will admit that the clock is useful, and far superior to having to cast a tempus charm every time).

She sighs, annoyed but unsurprised, and rolls out of bed, feet sinking into the fur rug. Officially Harry’s shift had ended at midnight, but concepts like saying no, and sleep, and unpaid overtime don’t seem to mean anything to her, so she’s never back on time. Ginny gave up on waiting up for her a week into Auror training.

She pads downstairs, bare feet almost silent on the polished wooden floors. It’s chilly, but not unbearably so. She considers going back for a dressing gown, but dismisses it. She’ll drag Harry back to bed, use her as a hot water bottle.

Harry is standing at the sink, her back to the door, scrubbing something furiously in the sink. Ginny doesn’t need to see it to know what it is.

“It is yours?” she asks quietly, leaning on the doorjamb.

Harry spins round, wet bloodstained shirt still clutched in her hands. She looks at Ginny, then down at the shirt, then back up. “Some of it.”

Ginny sighs. “Did you kill anyone?”

Harry shrugs, turns back to the sink. “Don’t know yet. He’s at St Mungo's. He might pull through.”

“Did you get caught?” She’d been against Harry joining the Aurors, even though it’s the only job she’d ever really wanted. She knew what the war had awakened in her girlfriend, knew what, if she was honest, had always been there. She’d been sure Auror work was a recipe for disaster, but Harry is stubborn as a mule, so she’d let her do it, hoping maybe she’d change her mind. She hadn’t, not through a year of training, and now three weeks into the actual job, someone’s in intensive care.

“It wasn’t attempted murder,” Harry says, sounding hurt. “It was a fire fight. He cursed Malone, I reacted. I was protecting a fellow officer.”

Ginny sighs. “Will your boss see it like that?”

“Yes! I hope so. I’m on compassionate leave for the next three days, and then I have to write a report for the ombudsman. They’ll decide if it was justified.” She sounds defiant, but Ginny knows her girlfriend well enough to hear the fear and shame underneath.

She comes into the kitchen and wraps her arms around Harry’s slim waist, wrests her chin on her shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll understand,” she says. She is, but only because of who Harry is. Harry might hate it, but people aren’t going to stop making excuses for the Girl who Lived just because she’s a woman now. “You want a hand?”

Harry shakes her head. “You can go back to bed. I won’t be long. If there’s one thing I’m good at cleaning, it’s bloodstains.” She laughs, fake and bitter, and Ginny kisses the back of her neck.

“I’m awake now. You want a cup of tea?”

Harry shrugs, but Ginny is her mother’s daughter, and her first reaction to any problem is always going to be food and hot drinks, so she fills the kettle and switches it on, flinching slightly when it lights up. Muggle kettles are useful, and much quicker that lighting the stove and boiling water that way, but they freak her out. They’re noisy, and despite Harry’s assurances that they’re safe, she keeps remembering Hermione’s lecture on the dangers of water and electricity. Muggles, she’s mostly decided, are either all very brave or completely mental.

There’s no biscuits, she’s trying to cut down on empty calories, but there’s still some of her mum’s rock cakes in the tin, so fetches those down from the cupboard and sets them on the table. Harry looks okay now, but soon the adrenaline will ebb and she’ll need the pick me up of the sugar.

“Why do you always wash bloodstains by hand?” she asks, while she hunts for the Rooibos. She doesn’t like caffeine after dark, so she’s experimenting with other kinds of tea. She’d had no idea there were so many. Whatever else she thinks about them, she will admit Muggle supermarkets are wonderful. So much variety! “You know you could do it with magic in half the time.”

Harry shrugs. “Habit I guess. I got my first period the summer before Hogwarts started. Aunt Petunia gave me a box of pads and showed me how to get bloodstains out of my clothes, and then told me she’d better never hear about it again. I think that was the most time she ever spent with me.”

“She didn’t get you a moonday present?” Ginny asks, mostly for something non-controversial to say. Talking about normal everyday things will help calm Harry down. She looks okay, but Ginny knows if she didn’t have something to do with her hands they’d be shaking, the way they always are after a fight.

“Muggles don’t have them,” Harry tells her. “It’s not… talked about, I guess. It’s taboo. Not that she would have got me anything even if it they did.”

“Wow, that sucks,” Ginny says lightly. The kettle has come to the boil, so she fetches two mugs, making sure to pick out Harry’s favourite for her, and makes the tea, ordinary English breakfast for Harry and Redbush for herself. “Blood starts pouring out of your vagina and everything hurts and you don’t even get a present to make up for it!”

Harry laughs. “Well what did your mum get you?”

“A dress. There was this girl in the village I used to play with sometimes, her mum used to spend an absolute fortune on clothes for her, and she had this one dress, red velvet with a Peter Pan collar. I was so jealous of it. Mum made me one like it, but in green.”

“You wore it for the party when we beat Ravenclaw in fourth year,” Harry says, turning and smiling at her. “I remember thinking how nice the colour looked on you.”

“Good thing you didn’t tell me so, I’d probably have fainted out of sheer excitement,” Ginny replies with a laugh. It had been an awkward subject between them to begin with, her epic schoolgirl crush on the Girl who Lived, but they’ve been together long enough now to joke about it, which is nice. Comforting. “Come and drink your tea. Leaving the shirt to soak won’t do it any harm.”

Obediently Harry moves over to the table, but she hovers from a moment before she actually sits.

Ginny gives her a look, one she learnt from her mum, and Harry quickly draws out a chair and sits down, picking up her mug.

It’s one George had given her when she started Auror training, one of WWW’s Battle of Hogwarts range, tiny painted Death Eaters forever fighting tiny painted Hogwarts students. Ginny had thought it was just about the most tasteless gift imaginable, but Harry had inexplicably loved it. Later, she explained to Ginny it was because Harry herself wasn’t on it. Ginny was, and Neville, and Luna, and Seamus, and a whole host of others, but not the Chosen One. It showed the people the History books overlooked. Ginny still thinks it’s tasteless, but she doesn’t say so. Harry likes it, and that’s what matters.

“Alright,” Ginny says, pushing the tin of rock cakes towards Harry. “Tell me all about it.”

“I already did,” Harry says a little sullenly, taking one. “I was just a fight. My blasting charm knocked the guy into a wall. I wasn’t trying to kill him, Gin, I swear!”

She looks anxious, eyes wide, begging Ginny to believe her, and Ginny feels guilty for her suspicions. “I believe you Harry. I just worry, you know that. After the war and… It’s a lot of temptation, that’s all.”

Harry laughs bitterly. “You make me sound like a serial killer. It’s not like that Gin, you know it isn’t.”

“No, I know. I just… You know how the papers will react, if you kill someone on the job. The Howler will have a fucking field day. The Prophet will probably bring Skeeter out of retirement just so she can say ‘I told you so’. I just don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.”

“I won’t, Gin. It’s not like they can say anything that hasn’t already been said. Not that I’m planning on killing anyone! But, well, after Skeeter’s biography? Pretty much everything else is going to seem tame.”

Ginny scowls at the mention of the book. ‘Harriet Potter: Portrait of a Killer’. It had been a bestseller, the bestselling book in a century in fact, and if Ginny had her way every single fucking copy would be burned. Harry killed Voldemort to save them all, and that’s the thanks she gets? A bestseller claiming she’s a psychopath, and people pretending to be former classmates giving interviews about how they were always afraid of her, even back in school. It’s not fucking fair.

Harry reaches across the table and takes her hand. “I know you worry Gin, but I really will be fine. I knew the risks when I took this job, but I want to help people. And really, what other job is there for someone like me? Never finished school and my only real skills are killing evil overlords. There’s not a lot of call for that down the jobcentre.”

Ginny smiles weakly. “I know sweetheart. And you are helping people, I know you are. I just don’t want you to have to go through all that… that crap, again. But it’s your life, and your choice, and you know I’ll support you. Even if I do still think you should have become a hitman.”

“Hitwoman. We could have been a team. Travelling the word in our sexy black catsuits, fighting nefarious Russian secret agents and assassinating tyrannical dictators.”

“I’d make a terrible hitwoman,” Ginny says with a smile, a real one this time. “And I don’t know what a catsuit is, but I’m sure I’d look fantastic in it.”

“Oh, you would,” Harry said, with such vehemence that Ginny makes a mental note to ask Hermione what they are. “I could still be a hitwoman on the side. Auror work could be my secret identity, my cover, so no one ever suspects me.”

Ginny laughs. “You could kill people, and then investigate your own murders.”

“That sounds like a TV show,” Harry says, with a genuine smile. “I would have a really cheesy over dramatic title. Something like Black Widow. Or Siren of the Night.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ginny tells her, squeezing her hand, “And I love you. Now finish your tea, I’ve got training at eight tomorrow, and I need to get some actual sleep. Not all of us get three days paid holiday you know.”

Harry smiles at her and obediently gulps down her tea. Ginny gets up, but Harry catches her round the waist, tugs in close and Ginny obligingly bends down for a kiss. It’s slow and sweet, the kind of kiss you only get when you’ve been together a long time, the kind that tastes like forever. Ginny’s favourite kind.

“I swear to you Gin, if I ever do kill someone on the job, it will be an accident.” Harry’s eyes are serious, searching her face for something, some kind of reaction. “No matter what, I won’t ever expose you to that kind of publicity.”

It’s Harry she’s worried about, not herself, but Harry wouldn’t understand that if she told her, so she just kisses her again.

“If you ever meet someone on the job you absolutely have to kill,” she says, against Harry’s lips, “you come and tell me, and we’ll get our catsuits and kill them together, okay? I don’t trust you to hide the body properly.”

Harry laughs, face crinkling up with mirth. She looks beautiful, and Ginny pulls her to her feet, wraps her arms around her waist, and kisses the side of her neck. “My feet are cold. Come and warm me up, my Siren of the Night.”

They laugh all the way to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love


End file.
